


Letters

by Mistflyer1102



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anonymous Penpals, Fluff, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3341537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistflyer1102/pseuds/Mistflyer1102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond had forgotten that he chose to hold onto the letters, despite never meeting the writer at the time.</p><p>Now he may have a rare second chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bond saw the small fireproof box in the ruins of Skyfall.

He’d been heading towards the helicopter that would take him, with M’s body, back to London, when something shiny reflecting the metal surface half buried underneath a beam caught his eye. Curious, he paused long enough to steal a paramedic’s gloves and pushed debris aside to find his name along the lid in an eight-year-old’s scrawl, prompting a ghost of a smile and the sudden impulse to pull it out of the wreck and tuck it underneath his jacket despite the still-warm surface.

It wasn’t until almost a week later, when he was still weary from the latest round of psych evaluations, that he found the box while searching his still mostly empty flat for alcohol.  _What did I put in there that was apparently worth saving?_  he wondered, bemused as he reached for the box, fingers turning the catch from memory alone. He blinked when he saw a pile of yellowed letters, all folded and still loosely tied with stolen twine— _the master of the Swiss ski lodge had launched a witch hunt for the brat stealing the twine from the gift shop—_ and found himself reaching for the top letter, carefully unfolding it to reveal neat print— _I remember being impressed with this person for having neat handwriting, I thought we were both eight years old when we started_ —he suddenly recalled as he studied the text:

_‘Hi_

_I’m sorry I didn’t write back. My family only comes for a week. Daddy does something big back home, so we can’t stay all year. Do you stay all year? My brother dosn’t like it because he says it’s boring. He thinks everything is boring.’_

Bond found himself grinning as he suddenly remembered finding the letters tucked the cubbyholes meant for parents to store their bags before heading to the slopes. He knew which lodge this was now, the one his parents took him to before they died elsewhere in the Alps and Bond was sent to Skyfall to live with Aunt Charmain.

 _I never did find out who wrote them_ , he thought, studying the careful print before reaching for the box, rifling through its contents for the last letter he ever received. Finding it at the bottom of the box, he carefully pulled it out and untied the twine, blinking at the unexpected sense of nostalgia when he realized that he could still sense the faint odor that was characteristic of the lodge itself.He opened it, studying the text and the promise to come back the following winter.

_But I wouldn’t. My parents died that year, and then I was sent to Skyfall with no way to get in touch with the other person._

The word ‘friend’ stood out to him on that last page, ‘ _I’m glad you’re my friend’_  burned into his mind as he quietly tucked the last letter away into the box and locked it again. The writer may have been glad to have Bond as a friend then, but wouldn’t want to see him now if he or she knew what Bond did for a living. No, it was better to leave matters as they were. The writer wouldn’t be able to find him.

But Bond could certainly at least  _identify_  him.

“Double-oh seven, what are you doing down here?” Q asked suspiciously when Bond pushed the glass door open the following morning, a few techs pausing to glance at the agent before returning to their duties when Q slammed a hand on a nearby desk. The quartermaster’s shoulders sagged slightly, but his eyes were bright as ever. “If you’re expecting another mission…”

“No, just looking for the two handwriting analysts I was informed were down here,” Bond said, easily navigating his way through the maze of desks towards Q, who straightened. “Would you happen to know where they are?” he asked casually.

“Why? Are you planning to harass them out of boredom, or do you have an actual request for them?” Q asked, narrowing his eyes as he leaned back on a foot, easily matching Bond’s gaze.

“I actually have a request for them, something I found that could be useful,” Bond said, sticking as close to the truth as he dared.

Q’s lips thinned, but he looked away. “They’re up in M’s office, assisting with a potential new lead for you,” he said, backing away to better walk around a nearby desk. He grabbed a stack of papers, which Bond suspected included reports, debriefs, and other items that would haunt Moneypenny if she still worked for the new M. “Please deliver these to Miss Moneypenny if you’re going up there, make yourself useful if you’re going to come down here,” he said, gingerly handing the stack to Bond. “Careful, it’s all alphabetized by the writer, and I will hurt you if you mess it all up.”

Bond nodded, deciding not to mention the fact that there were no names on the reports. “Very well, thank you,” he said before leaving, not missing the way that several techs gaped after him. He took a few seconds to adjust his grip out in the hall, aware that a few pages were sticking out of the stack, refusing to cooperate. Scowling, Bond moved outside of view from Q-Branch and tried to readjust the stack to make it neater.

Then he saw jarringly familiar handwriting on the corner of one report partway down the stack.


	2. Chapter 2

_What are the odds that I would find him again after so many years?_

Bond didn’t think, just gently pulled that particular report out and folded it, slipping it into a jacket pocket. From the brief glimpse he’d seen of the page, his writer, along with two others, had extensively marked up what looked like a cross between a requisition and a budget form. His writer had chosen black ink, while the other two had blue and green. As Bond carefully deposited the stack on the empty desk near M’s—Mallory, apparently—office, he quickly scanned other papers for any other handwriting samples, but abandoned the papers when he heard M’s doorknob turning and fled the office. 

He didn’t pull the report out again until he was in the safety of his own flat. After wiping down the coffee table, he carefully opened several of the yellowed letters and placed them along the top of the table. Then he laid the report flat on the table, the corner of his mouth twitching as he read the notes in the margins. He could almost imagine the three staff members in question bickering over what appeared to be edits in the monetary numbers and the costs involved with several parts of what could potentially be an ‘invisible’ gun that would evade updated metal scanners.  _He must be in R &D, then, since this required Q’s signature…the messy squiggle in the corner._

A quick check of the document’s original date told him that someone had printed the document about four months before the explosion in MI6. Major Boothroyd would have still been in charge then, and Q would have been R, if Bond’s understanding of the Q-Branch hierarchy was correct.

_He could be dead._

Bond stopped cold, suddenly remembering the numbers: ten Q-Branch, four administrators, and four custodial staff. He picked up the report, running his fingers across the indentations of the pen marks through the paper in an attempt to gauge the marks’ age.  _The latest that this could have been written would be the day of the explosion, since Major Boothroyd’s signature is difficult to duplicate._  Placing the report back down on the table, he pulled two letters close to compare the neat print on both, slowly exhaling when he recognized a match.

_Knock! Knock!_

“Who the hell…?” Bond muttered as he folded the letters and placed them back in the box, leaving the folded report on the table as he placed the box underneath the coffee table. Straightening his spine, he walked over to the door and opened it, blinking in surprise to find Q standing on his doorstep, his face pulled down into a frown. “Quartermaster, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Bond asked, deciding not to insult the younger man by asking how he found Bond.

Q offered a thin smile. “Next time you steal one of the Q-Branch papers, try to do it somewhere I or one of my staff  _can’t_  see you,” he said, holding a gloved hand out. “Give it back. Right now. I need  _all_  of those papers in order to not only provide funding requests, but to provide evidence that we used it wisely in the past and can be trusted with money again,” he said, eyes narrowing when Bond leaned casually against the door frame.

“And if I lost it?” Bond asked, arching a brow when Q leaned back on a foot, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Then I arrange for your flat to be strip-searched for it, no questions asked, so if there’s something in there that you would rather keep a secret, it may be in your best interest to hand my paper over,” Q said, carefully watching Bond as the agent glanced back into his flat, pretending to mull the threat over. Bond didn’t miss the line of tension through Q’s torso; he was expecting an argument.

 _I could return the page, let Q calm down before I start picking through his staff for the writer. A petition might be a good place to start in terms of collecting names and handwriting samples, just start it anonymously and see what happens._  Moneypenny would be a good place to start in figuring out the unspoken desires of the Q-Branch staff. With a sigh, he headed back into his flat, not missing the minuscule relaxation of Q’s shoulders. He leaned over and picked the page up, momentarily wishing he’d had a chance to photocopy it before handing it over. Waving it at Q, Bond handed him the paper. “Sorry about that, I was just intrigued at the messy scrawl all over the page,” he said, raising a brow when Q twitched and sharply inhaled at his words.

“Yes, well, we hardly ever get the chance to actually write with pen and paper,” Q pointed, his voice crisp with each word. “And I’ve seen yours, double-oh seven, it’s not very impressive,” he said, snatching the paper out of Bond’s hand. “Did you even  _see_  the analysts, or was that just an excuse to bother me?”

“No, I just got distracted.”

“Of course you did. Do not steal anything from me ever again, double-oh seven,” Q said, carefully tucking the page back into his bag. “I will report you to M next time.”

“How terrifying,” Bond muttered, putting on an innocent smile when Q glanced suspiciously at him. “I said, ‘I understand’,” he said, smiling when Q’s scowl deepened.

“Just don’t fucking do it again,” Q said, nodding once to him. “Good afternoon, double-oh seven.”

Bond merely nodded in response, watching Q leave. Then he ducked back into his flat to email Moneypenny and Tanner both to see if they knew of anything he could use as bait against Q-Branch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to tobiismycat for the petition idea!

“All right. Who started circulating  _this_?”

Bond looked up to find Q standing at the front of the branch, pinching an oddly familiar piece of paper between two fingers as he held it up for the staff to see. Bond himself had been roped into weapons testing, which served the dual purpose of allowing him to use guns at his leisure (to an extent) and giving him an excuse to start the new petition in R&D, where he suspected the mystery writer worked if he or she was still in the branch. Even from where he stood, he could see the front side completely full of names, and knew that the back would be in a similar condition.

A few quiet shuffles and whispers through the desks; Bond bit back the smile that threatened to crack his calm façade as he turned back to the gun that the staff member, Harvey, had been in the process of explaining when Q stopped all activity. “Sir,” someone finally ventured, reclaiming Bond’s attention. “Regardless of who started the petition, Pajama Day is still a pretty good idea, given that we  _could_  use a morale boost. Taking recent…events into consideration,” the staff member said, glancing pointedly at Bond before turning back to Q.

“Yeah, we could be a little more comfortable while we work,” another piped up from his desk, emboldened from his companion’s earlier words. “ _And_ ,” he added, standing up so that he could survey the room and bring everyone’s attention back to him. “Unlike the night crew, we’d stay awake because we’re up anyway, and will be less likely to fall asleep at our desks,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “ _Or_ make elementary hacking mistakes.”

Bond could see a muscle twitching in Q’s jaw even from across the room. Then Q raised his hands as though in surrender. “Fine. It’s not like we pay much attention to the goddamn dress code here anyway,” he said, jaw flexing even as he forced a smile. “You may have your Pajama Day. This Friday  _only_.”

Cheers erupted across the branch as Q rolled his eyes, leaning forward to check something on his monitor. Harvey sighed, catching Bond’s attention, and then turned the handgun over on the cloth-covered table. “One day, the fight is going to come down between Q and Lawrence, and God help the loser,” he said, pushing the two pieces in front of Bond. “Now, double-oh seven, this one—”

“What’s going on between them?” Bond interrupted, only half paying attention as he glanced up at Q’s desk, trying to think of an excellent way to steal the petition paper back before Q either burned or shredded it.

“Well, Lawrence was technically next in line, so to speak, after R when Major Boothroyd was still around. Q was still relatively new, he’d been around for a little over a year,” Harvey said, glancing back at the front of the room as Q gathered a few papers. “When the explosions happened, R and Boothroyd were killed, and Lawrence was among those injured and unconscious. I think Q got burned, but he was still conscious enough to get ahold of Major Boothroyd’s computer, force his way into Boothroyd’s firewalls, and manage to isolate the virus and drive out the other hacker before the hacker could do more damage. Q allegedly tried to transfer leadership to Lawrence in the aftermath, but obviously it didn’t work. Personally, I still think M guilt-tripped him into the position,” Harvey muttered, shaking his head. “Branch is divided, especially since there’s no evidence to back Q’s story up.”

“Damaged security tapes?” Bond guessed as he watched Q begin walking through the desks towards them.

“More like destroyed. Skyfall didn’t help, obviously, but Q either can’t or won’t back down now or his opponents will see the chance to push for his eventual resignation. Between you and me, I think Q’s doing fine enough, he just needs to relax a little. He’s trying to control things that aren’t feasibly in his control,” Harvey muttered, straightening when Q appeared five seconds later. “Sir,” he greeted, taking a step back to allow Q to stand closer to the table.

“Harvey, double-oh seven.” Q turned to Harvey and asked, “Are you done with him yet? Miss Moneypenny said she had something for me, and I figured double-oh seven could toss these papers out on the way.”

“Glorified delivery boy then?” Bond asked, ignoring Q’s scowl.

“Well, someone is trying to undermine my authority here, might as well as eliminate you as a suspect,” he said, passing the papers over to Bond. “All of it is for the bin in Moneypenny’s office, which is next to Mallory’s.”

“And if you do that in a timely manner, I’ll let you use the rocket launcher next,” Harvey said, grinning as Bond feigned reluctance in taking the stack.

“No guarantees on that,” he said over his shoulder, shaking his head with a smile as he left the branch. He checked quickly to see Q leaning forward on Harvey’s desk; head bowed as Harvey continued speaking quietly to him while gesturing to the weapons, but then turned to search through the stack. He used his relief at finding the petition to brush away the small twitch of guilt, and waited until he was in a blind spot in the corridor to pull the petition out of its spot and fold it into his suit jacket pocket. Then he walked quickly to Moneypenny’s office to deal with the rest.

It wasn’t until later that evening that he pulled it out again, silently relieved that his foray into personnel records had been successful at predicting the number of regular staff, and therefore have enough numbered slots for everyone. He opened one of the letters again, and laid it next to the petition, carefully studying the numerous names and trying not to get frustrated as each name failed to match.

The last two lines were empty.

 _Q and R. I’ll get them first before moving onto the night staff_.

Bond also made a mental note to get a small gift for Q, as anonymous apology for fanning already active flames in the branch. He pulled out a scrap piece of paper to write a small note, figuring that it would be harder for the tech-savvy younger man to track Bond down with nothing but a scrap of handwriting to go on.

_And Moneypenny can deliver it since it’s easier to sneak into her office than Q’s._


	4. Chapter 4

“Double-oh seven? What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Bond lied smoothly as he covered up his surprise at seeing Q sitting in the front of the branch instead of R. Q sat cross-legged on his desk, shoes missing, as he lowered two pieces of paper in his lap before reaching for a third from the mess that covered his workstation. “Which begs the question of what you’re doing here, at three in the morning,” he said, glancing back to find that the night staff was quietly working, only one or two glancing up as he walked towards the quartermaster.

“I was a bit rattled by something I saw earlier today, that’s all. Told R to go home so I could use this time to get over it,” Q said, setting the third piece of paper down to reach for his Scrabble mug. “Your reply still doesn’t explain your presence here. There are countless tunnels and other rooms and other people to bother, yet here you are, bothering _me_.”

“Well, to be fair, I didn’t know you were going to be here. I was wandering around,” Bond said, careful not to brush the suit jacket pocket that held the newest petition—for a midnight pizza run—and risk crinkling the paper. He didn’t know if Q had received the apology gift yet, but dared not steer the conversation into that direction. “Do you want me to do a coffee run?” he asked, thinking of another way to collect samples. He was careful to keep his voice down lest he accidentally start another standoff.

Q frowned for a moment, and then turned back to the room. “Who here doesn’t have their cup holder with the splash guard?” he asked, barely raising his voice as numerous heads looked up at his words.

Bond watched in silent amazement as whispers ran throughout the room before someone said, “I think everyone still has theirs, sir.” He hesitated, and then asked, “Am I to understand hopefully correctly that there’s talk of coffee?”

Q nodded. “Very well, double-oh seven. If you can do it quietly and without fuss, you may get orders and get the coffee. Mind you, mess hall coffee will do just fine, you don’t have to leave headquarters for it,” he said, setting his mug aside before reaching for another paper. He frowned, and then handed it to Bond. “You can use that, there was a printing error and it’s blank,” he said as Bond turned it over in his hands.

“Should I start with R&D?”

“No, R&D is always closed at night except for extreme circumstances, in which case we’d pull staff from the regular shift. Otherwise, R&D remains locked. So it’s just everyone you see in this room,” Q said, the corner of his mouth twitching as he went back to his papers. “You can skip me, I’ve got my tea already,” he said without looking up, examining his notes as Bond offered the paper and a pen to him.

_Damn._

While waiting in line at the nearest Starbucks—his treat, he knew how gross the mess hall coffee could be at this time of night—he studied the lines of names and orders. Q had been the only person to refuse his offer, and Bond was now fairly confident that he’d managed to find every person on the staff, and he just needed a sample of R’s and Q’s handwriting to determine whether his writer died or not in the explosions. R would not be difficult, Bond just needed to corner him and then wait ten minutes for the second-in-command to fold. Q would be trickier, given that he seemed to do everything on the computer, but Bond was fairly confident he could find a way.

He resisted the urge to grin when he brought a flat box into Q-Branch, carrying all of their orders. Q’s eyes widened at the sight as excited whispers broke throughout the room. “Double-oh seven… Bond, you didn’t have to,” he began uncertainly as Bond set the box down on the nearest desk, the technician immediately leaning forward to hunt down their cup. “I—give me a moment,” Q said, twisting around to reach for his bag.

“Consider it my treat,” Bond said, frowning as he saw Q pulling out his wallet. “Do you mind passing the box around, so everyone get their coffee?” he asked the tech, who nodded before taking the box. He then turned and headed straight for Q, shaking his head even as Q started to pull a few pounds out. “Q, Q, no, it’s all right,” he said, ignoring the money as he rested his hands on the table and leaned forward, nearly bumping noses with a startled Q. “My treat. Don’t worry about it.”

“But  _why_?” Q whispered, shoulders tensing when Bond didn’t immediately move away.

“Because I know as well as the next person that the mess hall coffee is disgusting,” Bond said, leaning back on a foot. He glanced back at where the box was making the rounds, and then turned back to Q. “I also got you a muffin, I know you didn’t want anything to drink, but it didn’t occur to me to ask if you wanted food,” he said, procuring the wrapped muffin.

Q hesitated, watching the muffin before glancing at Bond suspiciously. “What do you want?” he asked after a moment, folding his arms across his chest.

“Nothing, I swear,” Bond said, placing the muffin carefully on the table. He glanced back at the branch staff, grinning slightly when he saw several staff get irritated with the person taking her time to find her name. “Well, my work here is done. Until next time, then, Quartermaster,” he said, nodding once before he turned to leave.

“Double—Bond?”

He turned, momentarily caught off guard by Q’s use of his name. “Yes?” he asked, secretly pleased to note that Q had taken the muffin and was now carefully unwrapping it.

Q hesitated, and then said, “Thank you. For the coffees and the muffin.”

Bond nodded. “Any time,” he said, and then left the room.

_Q and R are left. This shouldn’t be…too hard. I hope._


	5. Chapter 5

“You want me to sign  _what_?”

“This form. It’s a release document that will allow me to represent MI6 interests at the exposition in two weeks,” Bond said, leaning on the desk edge as R studied the paper he’d brought in a few days after the nighttime visit to Q-Branch. “I wanted to surprise Q with a few pieces of equipment he told me he wanted when we last spoke the other night, and I noticed that this exposition had them, so I thought I would go acquire those pieces for him. For that reason, I would greatly appreciate you not mentioning this to him,” he added as R laid the paper flat on the workstation surface, squinting at the text.

“Bond, Lockheed Martin is an American federal company. If MI6 were spotted lurking around that sort of tech, we would be chased out of the country before being accused of espionage against the Americans. That would cause the mother of all arguments between the governments, and it was because you wanted to impress Q. M would kill us all,” R said, pushing the document back to Bond. “I’m sorry, double-oh seven, but I can’t sign off on that. Even if the tech  _does_  look tempting…”

“Then put your civilian name, and no one will be the wiser,” Bond suggested, pushing the paper back to R. “If you want, I can also pick up something for you…”

“Where the hell would we get the money?” R asked, already turning the paper over to study the list of pieces that Bond had listed on the back. “Hmmm…”

“I have a few funds set aside for the purchase. The problem is that the exposition is hosting it as an auction, so the number of how many pieces I can acquire is still unknown,” Bond said, pushing the paper closer as he ‘accidentally’ nudged the ballpoint pen that he’d helpfully supplied for R’s use. “So, will you sign it?”

R hesitated, hand hovering over the nearby pen before he snatched it and turned the paper back over to find the dotted line near the bottom. “For the love of God, Bond, don’t let M hear about this. He’ll decorate his new office with our heads if he does,” he muttered, scribbling his name down on the dotted line. “Now get out of here, I’m surprised Q hasn’t kicked you out already, it’s too early in the morning for this.”

“Agreed,” Q said, startling the two of them as he approached R’s workstation. Bond caught a glimpse of dark circles under his eyes as he leaned forward for the pen and slashed out a line of text on the document on top of the stack he was carrying. “Bond, if you still have nothing else better to do than hang around here, take these to Miss Moneypenny,” he said, shoving the stack of papers to Bond, who grunted but shifted the stack before reaching for the document that R had signed. R, taking the hint, carefully folded the paper up and handed it over to Bond, who stuffed it into a jacket pocket.

“Very well, Quartermaster,” Bond said and nodded his head in a mock half-bow before turning to leave the branch.

“Wait!”

Bond turned in time to see Q dart back to his workstation, following when the other man gestured for him to come. “I need you to run this down to Melanie, she’s in Analysis,” Q said, snatching a piece of scrap paper and a pen before he leaned forward, furiously scribbling something down—his body blocked Bond’s view, but Bond could be patient—and then reached for the tape. He folded the paper in half before taping the edges shut.

“Oh, so you  _can_  write without a computer?” Bond teased, careful to keep his tone light as Q placed the folded paper on the top of the small stack, the paper itself blank but Bond could see the pen imprints from the other side.

“I learned to write and read at the same time as soon as I could hold a pen without help. My parents constantly impressed the idea that effective communication would make one stand out in a crowd, especially in technical fields, so they kept making me learn for years,” Q said, making a face as he tossed the pen back to R, who yelped and ducked at the last minute. “Practiced when I could with other people, but stopped when I learned that my brain-to-mouth filter was still faulty. After that, I stuck to the assigned exercises,” he said, resuming his place. His eyes narrowed slightly, and Bond turned to see Lawrence holding what appeared to be a miniature entourage. “Idiots are supposed to be working.”

“Why not just assign them to the night crew?” Bond carefully suggested.

“Because I’m not a bloody coward, and how else can I keep an eye on Lawrence? Don’t want to be stabbed in the back in the middle of the night. R would be next given that Lawrence is still third in line to my job, so to speak,” Q said, waving his hand in Bond’s direction as though shooing the agent. “That’s the only reason I trust you to deliver my paperwork since I know you’ll hand it back if you try to steal it again. Now go, you have something to deliver. I’m expecting a response from Miss Moneypenny, so don’t leave her office until you get one.”

Bond nodded and ‘obediently’ left the branch, the taped piece of paper silently taunting him as he entered the lift at the end of the hall and pressed the button for the administration offices. Painfully aware that he’d never get another easy opportunity, he set the stack down as soon as the doors opened, and carefully cut the tape with a small penknife, figuring he could always analyze R’s signature later.

He froze when he saw Q’s writing; he didn’t even need an old letter to compare.

_Melanie—_

_I don’t know if you recall the small favor you owe me, but there’s a small matter of an anonymous note that appeared on my desk. While I don’t feel immediately threatened, odd given the atmosphere in Q-Branch, I still recognize the writing as one as I haven’t seen in years. I would like for you to look at it, perhaps give me something to use as a starting place to locate the writer. Consider us even after you’re done. Q._

Very calmly, Bond folded the note again and placed it back on the stack, heart thudding in his ears as he resisted the urge to snatch the note and take it back home with him to double-check it against the old letters. He could just wait for Q to come to him, given that Q was apparently already on the path himself.

Bond had fully composed himself by the time the lift doors opened again. He was already hatching another plan to get a second sample of Q’s writing…and what better way to do it than to use the same method of communication that had started this all: leaving an anonymous letter where he knew Q would find it?

_I’ll just have to find a way around the cameras first._


	6. Chapter 6

Bond didn’t realize how much Q was slipping until he returned from Egypt.

“Welcome home, double-oh seven. How was your first mission back?” Q asked as Bond approached his desk, eyes bright despite the darkening circles underneath them. “I have to be honest, it’s been rather quiet without you down here to bother me,” he said, grinning as Bond feigned a shocked expression, pushing across his (mostly) intact equipment for Q’s perusal. “Mm…very good, double-oh seven. I’m going to assume then, that the Komodo dragon was a fluke and that you’re actually very good with your equipment,” he said, grinning when Bond leaned forward, their noses nearly touching.

“Little rough, but other than that, nothing was stolen or completely destroyed,” he said, momentarily distracted when Q looked down at the equipment; there was tape on the arms of his glasses. “How was your time without me?” he asked casually, discreetly checking Q over for any signs of a physical altercation. He was almost sure that he would have heard something by now if such an event happened, but he wouldn’t put it past Q-Branch to keep their mouths shut either.

“As I mentioned earlier, boring. The only exciting thing is that some paperwork got misplaced and it’s due in two days,” Q said, opening a drawer to pull out a foam case, nudging Bond’s hand aside so that he could open the case. “So I get to look for it, since no one  _else_  seems to know what’s happened to it even though I’m damn sure that I emailed it to Moneypenny in addition to sending a hard copy,” he said, mouth twitching as he stared pointedly at the case, carefully inserting Bond’s equipment back into the case.

Frowning, Bond glanced back at the room in time to see three techs—one of which was Lawrence—duck back behind their monitors. “Sounds like fun,” he said instead, careful to keep his hand blocked from the room’s view with his body as he reached for a piece of paper caught under Q’s elbow. “How long ago did it disappear?” he asked, taking a nearby pen to carefully write:  _Do you want to talk about what is really going on somewhere private?_

He pushed the paper across to Q, whose eyes widened, full recognition flickering through them before he said, “Um, this happened about eight days ago, the day before you left for Cairo. I didn’t want to cause a fuss over it, but when I went to get my back up drive, where the other copy was stored, I realized  _that_  was gone as well, so I figured it was best to pick one copy and search for that,” he said, careful to look at Bond as he wrote his reply and slid the paper and pen back to Bond.

“What made you think that the hard copy was the best version to look for?” Bond asked, taking the paper back to glance briefly at the handwriting he’d familiarized himself with over the weeks following Skyfall:  _Not really, I can handle this…and the fallout if necessary._  “Are you absolutely sure that Moneypenny didn’t get it?” he asked as he wrote his next remark:  _You don’t look well, and that makes me concerned._

Q shrugged as he took the paper back. “She threatened to kick me out of her office if I asked her to check one more time, so I figured it must have been an error on my end,” he said with a tight smile as he wrote three letters and pushed the paper back to Bond. The agent raised an eyebrow when he read the word— _Why?_ —and looked up again when Q closed the case, locking it shut. “But that’s none of your concern, double-oh seven, so I think perhaps you should move along to Medical,” he said, avoiding Bond’s gaze as he started to leave.

Bond took the pen and quickly wrote ‘ _Come find me if you change your mind’_  before including his mobile number below, well aware that Q already had his address. He looked up and said, “Q?”

“What, double-oh seven?” Q said tiredly, turning to face him.

Bond held up the paper that the two of them had been writing on, careful to angle it so that the techs behind him could see the paper, but not the writing. “Moneypenny asked that I deliver this to you, something about a suggested change in policy,” he said, attempting to find the most harmless reason for Moneypenny to be sending Q anything via courier.

Q, luckily, caught on. “About time,” he said, heading back over and taking the paper from Bond. His gaze lingered a little longer than necessary, and then he ducked his head before he said, “As you were, double-oh seven.”

Bond nodded, and then left the branch, intending to evade Medical in favor of going home.


	7. Chapter 7

_Knock, knock!_

Bond looked up from where he had been pouring himself the usual post-mission drink, frowned when he noted the hour, and then set the glass aside in favor of the bottle. Keeping a relaxed grip on the neck, he called, “One moment,” before taking the handset phone and placing it and the bottle on the small table just inside the flat. Then he unlocked the few deadbolts before opening the door, blinking in momentary surprise to find a water logged Q standing on the doorstep, shoulders hunched forward with his hands wrapped around his body. “What happ—” he began to say, but Q cut him off with a curt shake of his head.

“R&D accident still under investigation. Nothing toxic, thankfully, but if I have my way, someone  _will_  get fired for this because of the safety risks they created. That bloody bucket didn’t put itself up there, but I suppose better that it was me and not M, that’s for sure,” he said, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He hesitated, and then said, “I can understand if you want to meet at another time, erm, because of the water, but—”

“No, no, no, I’m still extending the invitation. Are you absolutely sure it’s water?” Bond asked, leaning out into the hall to glance both ways, to see if Q had attracted unwanted company that he hadn’t wanted to lead back to his own flat.

“Given that it’s been over two hours and I haven’t gotten sick, burned or died, it’s definitely water,” Q said, grimacing when Bond gestured him inside. “Sorry about the mess,” he muttered, pulling his coat off out in the hall and slipping inside. He gingerly hung it up, pulling off a wet cardigan in an attempt to catch the drips. “I’m sorry, do you have a towel?” he asked as he closed the door.

“I’ll get some spare clothes too, you look soaked. Wait here,” Bond said before heading to the linens closet, pulling down a few hand towels and draping them over his arm before pulling a bath towel out next. Leaving the pile in his room, he pulled out a T-shirt and sweatpants and left those on the bed as well. “You can change in my room, I insist,” he said, catching the minute hesitation in Q’s eyes. “I’ll take care of the mess out here, and perhaps you can tell me what’s going on once you’re done.”

“James, I’m the department head. I’m supposed to take care of this, there’s no need for you to get involved,” Q said testily as he headed towards the bedroom.

 _He’s trying to control things that aren’t feasibly in his control._  Bond pulled down a second wine glass, somehow getting the feeling that alcohol would be necessary tonight. He heard rather than saw Q return a few minutes later, the Quartermaster’s feet padding towards the kitchen when he abruptly stopped. Bond refrained from smiling to himself as he heard Q slowly move back to the coffee table, undoubtedly finding the letter he’d written after getting home earlier that afternoon. He heard the crinkling of paper, and then stalled in the kitchenette, aware that Q would most likely want privacy. Bond didn’t have to watch him, not when he knew the penned words by heart.

“ _The last letter of yours that I received was in 1978, a year before my parents died. After that, I did not return to the lodge as Aunt Charmain feared for my safety after my parents’ fatal skiing accident. Truth be told, I forgot about the letters we used to exchange until Skyfall, when I was leaving the site and found the box I used to keep them in. I would re-read them over the year until the one week you visited the lodge._

 _That’s why I took your report. Because I recognized the handwriting, but I needed to verify the owner’s identity, and I needed to know if you were still alive. The petition took care of your regular staff, the coffee orders to the night staff, and I got R to sign a form to peruse American tech (still willing to do that, they have quality pieces this year)_   _and I looked at the note you sent to Melanie. I hadn’t meant to spook you with the apology, just hadn’t realized it was you._

“That American tech…what exactly were you planning to get?”

Bond snorted, catching Q’s grin as he brought the glasses over to the coffee table, where Q sat on the sofa with the letter in hand. “I do the ‘emotionally healthy’ thing and open up to you, and that’s the only thing to warrant a comment?” he teased as he set a glass down in front of Q, sitting down on the carpet on the other side of the table. The clothes were slightly big for Q’s slimmer frame, but Q either didn’t notice or care.

“No, R said you had a list, but I never saw any of it,” Q said, sipping his wine as he studied the letter. “I can’t believed you saved them…it’s odd, because I did as well. I…I just never looked at them after that last year, it…it hurt too much to even look at them, and then I forgot about it until last night.” He coughed, and then said, “You would have been ten that final year, right?”

“And you would have been…seven, correct?” Bond guessed, Q nodding a moment later. “Your parents must have  _really_  pushed your education, then.”

“Well, that’s what you get with a mathematician for a mother,” Q said, eyeing his glass before swallowing down a healthy gulp. He coughed before glancing around for the bottle, Bond rolling his eyes and getting up again. “I never thought I would find you again,” he admitted, looking down at his glass as Bond returned with the bottle. “I mean, I searched for you when you failed to appear the following year, but I had nothing to go on. That was…not my best trip, I thought I had upset you or something,” he said quietly, allowing Bond to pour him another glass.

“I—I didn’t realize it was that important to you,” Bond said, tilting his head as Q looked down to the ground.

“Well, the anonymity helped me talk to you without worrying that you would hear things from my older brothers, they didn’t make school or tutoring easy for me, having established reputations, if you will, with the instructors. You were the only ‘friend’ I had that didn’t judge me based on rumors alone or who I was. When you disappeared…I thought I might have said something, and stopped writing letters to people I couldn’t see. Though I did have friends again, by the time MI6 hired me, but then the explosions happened,” Q explained, staring at his glass. “And once the internal divisions happened…well, Lawrence  _does_ have seniority compared to me, and no one wants to be caught in the middle of that.”

Bond nodded, deciding to let Q take the conversation at his own pace.

“I said as much to M, about a day or so before you returned. She said…stuff, less than nice things about others that I actually try not to think about. It came down to her hope that since I was younger, but just as smart as Lawrence, I would last a bit longer in the office than he would and would be less of a headache to replace for her successor,” Q said, sipping the wine slowly now. “Lawrence was still unconscious at this point, I tried to point out that he could easily resume his post when he woke up, but she threatened to fire me if I so much as protested against her final decision.”

Bond could almost imagine M saying as much, even if he also suspected she’d withheld a reason from Q.  _Not that we’ll ever know for sure now_. “What did you say to that?” he asked.

“That I would make Lawrence my second-in-command. She said that if she were me, she wouldn’t do that unless I wanted to wake up with a knife in my back. I still can’t decide if she was serious or not. Things…” Q paused, shrugged, and then went back to his wine. “Things just got out of control. I think he’s trying to prove he can do a better job than me through sabotage, I mean, a custodian found my hard drive under the desk of a cohort of his, so I have my financial papers back unless they’ve been erased.”

“And the water?”

“Rigged door in the labs, M was with me at the time. I was going to show him a prototype, which is missing by the way. If you see it… please let me know,” Q said, frowning at his glass. “This glass isn’t big enough for me.”

“At least you can take it slowly,” Bond said, pouring himself a second glass before giving Q half for his third. “What’s your next step?”

“Staying ahead of Lawrence. Retaliation is not only childish, but could put innocent staff and agents at risk because of branch divisions, and I would personally rather resign and let Lawrence take over than do that,” Q said, sipping his drink as he studied Bond. “And I forbid you for doing anything on my behalf, so don’t even think about it,” he said, narrowing his eyes when Bond put his hands up in faux surrender.

“Just know, then, that I’ll watch your back if and when you ever want it,” Bond said quietly, raising his glass towards Q before taking a gulp. “If…if you want to keep talking, we can use a dead drop to arrange meetings. We can meet wherever you feel comfortable,” he added, watching the relief slide into suspicion in Q’s eyes.

“Why would you do something like that?” Q asked after a moment, setting his glass down. “We have no reason to be associating like this, not after Skyfall, not after everything that’s happened since—”

“Q, I just said ‘if you want’. The offer will remain open. I’m doing this because whatever happened during Skyfall, you still remained calm and levelheaded, and still bent the rules when I needed you to. I don’t blame you for what happened. We all took risks during that mission, you did what you could, and M knew what she was doing,” Bond said, watching Q discreetly check his watch. “Again, at your pace, your decision.”

Q nodded, scrunching in on himself on the sofa cushions as he stared at his glass, his thoughts almost visible to Bond. “I…I would like that…that arrangement then…thank you,” he finally whispered, looking up at Bond.

Bond smiled. “You’re welcome. In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay here overnight so that you can run your clothes through the dryer, I’ll take the sofa so you can have the bed,” he offered, mildly confused when his heart sank a bit when Q shook his head.

“No, people will really start gossiping then…I’m not entirely sure if I was monitored with CCTV coming here,” he admitted, draining his glass before he stood up.

“Then at least let me help,” Bond said, starting to stand up.

Q hesitated, and then shook his head. “I think I can tackle a dryer while leaving it intact,” he said, grinning briefly before turning to leave the room. “Thank you…Bond,” he said, pausing briefly at the door.

“Call me James,” he corrected, watching a delicate flush steal across Q’s face.

Q just nodded once before slipping through the open door towards the back of the flat, leaving Bond in the living room to contemplate his own next step.

_You’ll be safe, I promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end! 
> 
> Thank you all for your support throughout this story! :)
> 
> Mistflyer


End file.
